


Membership

by withthekeyisking



Category: Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Smut, Bruce Oliver and Barry are Not Good, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inappropriate Use of Escrima Sticks, M/M, Masochism, Masochist Dick Grayson, Panic Attacks, Praise Kink, Referenced Roy/Oliver, Referenced Wally/Barry, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Spitroasting, Sub Wally West, Sweet Ending, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, degradation kink, referenced Dick/Bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking
Summary: Roy, Dick, and Wally form a very unique club. It is not a happy club.(But hey, at least they get something good out of it between themselves.)
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Roy Harper, Dick Grayson/Roy Harper/Wally West
Comments: 20
Kudos: 157
Collections: Dick Grayson Fic Exchange 2020





	Membership

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lacemonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemonster/gifts).



> This ended up being far more feely than I meant it to, but the idea snowballed lol. I hope it'll still be to your liking 😊

The Teen Titans have only been functioning as a team for five months when Roy walks in on Robin getting fucked by Batman.

Well, maybe that's not completely correct. Batman isn't actually _there,_ just on a computer monitor. It isn't _his_ cock thrusting roughly in and out of Robin's ass, but the dildo on the end of a fucking machine instead.

But that's Batman's name Robin is groaning out, tears streaking his face, cheeks bright red. And it's _definitely_ Batman's growl coming through the speakers, telling Robin exactly what he wants the boy to do next.

Roy watches for all of ten seconds before he turns around and walks quickly back down the hall, not bothering to check to see if Robin's bedroom door closed automatically like it should have.

He should've knocked. He shouldn't have just opened the door and barged in. But they've all been up in each others' spaces so far, none of them shy about stripping in front of the others if a decontamination shower is needed, or just a really quick costume change. They're a team of _superheroes;_ modesty got left behind at the door.

There was something he wanted to borrow, and he didn't think anything of just opening Robin's door. Worst he expected was Robin in some state of undress, and that wouldn't be an unfamiliar sight, so it was whatever. And Rob could easily tell him to go away if he wanted.

The wildest thing about that whole situation wasn't even the fact that the fourteen-year-old boy was letting himself be fucked at his mentor's orders.

It was that Robin didn't even notice Roy in the doorway.

Robin, king of observation and being aware of his surroundings, didn't hear the door open, or feel Roy staring at him, or hear the door close. Roy didn't even think that was _possible._

Well, Roy definitely understands the way your mind can leave you when you're in a position like that. So he can cut the kid a break in that regard.

Roy goes to the kitchen, grabs the bottle of cheap tequila hidden behind the pots and pans. It's the middle of the night, the Tower silent around him, so he doesn't bother with a glass, instead uncapping the bottle and taking a deep swig. The alcohol burns going down, but Roy's been drinking for years by this point; he barely takes note of it.

He can't get the sight out of his head. Robin, their fearless leader, naked on his hands and knees, body jerking back and forth under the force of the dildo fucking in and out of his small body. Practically _sobbing_ out _'_ _Batman',_ tears dripping down his face. The way he whimpered when Batman told him to pick up the machine's remote and turn up the speed.

Roy wonders how long it's been going on. Ollie's been making jokes for _years_ about the Bat and his pantsless sidekick, but Ollie always says dumb shit that isn't true. Dinah always rolled her eyes and told him he was an idiot, which only solidified in Roy's mind what garbage everything Ollie spewed was.

He _really_ didn't expect there to be any truth to the joke. Sure, Batman was freaky and dangerous, but he was _Batman._ One of the leaders of the League, the one always enforcing rules on the JL, always wanting them to be the best they could be. That guy, fucking his underage sidekick?

No, that's far more Ollie's style.

Roy takes another large sip from the bottle and wanders into the living room. He turns on the TV, picks a random channel. None of what's on the screen actually makes its way into his head, but the noise and bright colors are distracting enough to be helpful.

He was Robin's age when Oliver fucked him the first time.

The guy came home drunk as a skunk, barely keeping his feet under him. Dinah was on a trip in DC, so not there to make sure he got back to his room without choking on his own vomit. Roy was resigning himself to the task when Oliver plopped down on the couch beside him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. It was a little uncomfortable—the guy _reeked,_ and his grip sat awkwardly around Roy—but Ollie had always been a physically affectionate person, so Roy didn't think too much of it.

But then Oliver's hand landed high up on the inside of his thigh. He squeezed, and smiled lazily when Roy shot him a look, pulling Roy closer by his arm around his shoulders.

 _"Anyone ever tell you you're a handsome kid?"_ he asked, words slurring, hot breath blowing across Roy's face. _"You're startin' to...to grow up. You'll be so handsome. My boy. My good boy."_

The hand on his thigh reached in his pajama pants, grabbed his dick. Roy squirmed, wanting him to stop, but Ollie just kept smiling and stroked him until he came in his underwear.

Oliver didn't actually _fuck_ him that time. Just fucked his thighs. Too drunk to work out the mechanics past that, Roy is pretty sure.

The next time he was drunk, he worked it out.

That was three years ago. He's _fine,_ now. It's nothing. Might've freaked him out at first, but it's whatever. It's only when Ollie's drunk, and Dinah's not there. Or Dinah's angry at him. Or Dinah's fallen asleep.

It's _fine._ What's a few out of control encounters? If Oliver's drunken antics are the price of being a hero, Roy can survive them no problem.

He wonders if that's what Robin tells himself, too.

"Shit," Roy mutters. Because what he walked in on—that wasn't a _first time._ The first time doesn't happen over video call, doesn't happen with a goddamn _fucking machine,_ doesn't happen without some level of physical force, whether or not that force is actually hard or just enough to make you freeze up.

So when did it start? How long has Robin been dealing with this? Is it actually a _thing_ between mentors and sidekicks? He hadn't thought so, had been watching all the other young heroes he met to figure it out. His conclusion always ended up as _no, it's just me. It's just Ollie._

Ollie and _Batman,_ apparently.

He doesn't know how long he's been ruminating when he hears someone enter the room, and tilts his head to look.

It's Robin. He's dressed now, in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that's too big for him and Roy is pretty sure belongs to Garth. He's brushing his teeth as he shuffles into the room, foam painting his lips.

He looks tired, he looks—fucked out, actually. Hair sweaty and curled in a million different directions, plastered to his forehead. Face flushed, lips bright red and plump. The slightest hitch to his steps.

In any other scenario, Roy would be congratulating Robin on what seemed like an excellent encounter.

As is, the sight only puts a sour taste in his mouth, and he chases it down with another swig of tequila.

Robin, for the second time tonight, doesn't notice him. He looks pretty out of it, shuffling into the room and over to the armchair where a book sits, one Roy vaguely remembers seeing Donna reading earlier. Robin picks it up, blinking at it, toothbrush stilling in his mouth as he reads the back cover of the book. He's practically swaying on his feet with exhaustion.

Roy wonders how long Robin was on that goddamn machine.

It's when Robin turns to head back out of the room, book in hand, that he notices Roy sitting on the couch.

He freezes, eyes going wide. After a moment they flick down to the bottle Roy has clutched in his hand, and then back to Roy's face with something far more calculating in his eyes. Probably trying to decide how much of this encounter—how much of what Roy is currently observing about Robin's state—Roy is actually going to remember.

Roy's never been one to beat around the bush, though, and alcohol has always loosened his tongue. So he doesn't bother fighting the urge to say, "I saw what you were doing in your room. With Batman."

Robin stares at him, perfectly still. Roy can imagine the alarm bells going off inside his head, the rising panic. Because _no one can know, no one is supposed to know._ Roy gets it. It's why he's not gonna tell anyone else.

"I don't know what you think you saw—" Robin begins levelly, and Roy rolls his eyes.

"Robbie, come on," Roy scoffs. "B-man was ordering you to fuck yourself and you were doing it, I didn't misunderstand the situation."

"Look—"

"I'm not gonna tell anyone," Roy speaks over him, and Robin falls silent. Roy lifts the bottle, extending his arm in offering. Robin frowns, and it makes Roy snort. "You're getting fucked by a guy who's basically your dad and you're turning your nose up at a little booze?"

Robin's frown deepens, but he does walk forward and take the bottle from Roy's hand. He stares at it for a moment, almost contemplatively, and then removes the toothbrush from his mouth and lifts the bottle, taking a big sip of tequila.

To his credit, he doesn't immediately spit it back up, but his face scrunches up in distaste and he wipes his mouth off on his shoulder.

When he drops down onto the couch next to Roy, he winces, immediately shifting to take some of the weight off his ass.

"You ever been drunk before?" Roy asks curiously.

"I've been intoxicated," Robin says firmly, like he's giving a mission report. "Altered mental states are something I have to prepare for."

Roy stares at him for a moment, debating if he wants to ask, if Robin will react poorly. Decides to go ahead with it anyway. "And in these _'altered mental states',_ did Batman do shit to you?"

Robin is very good at being unreadable. But he's also a fourteen-year-old boy whose mentor-father-whatever is abusing him, and just got finished with what looked like an intense session.

"...Yes," Robin says eventually, not quite meeting Roy's eyes. "It was...further training, he said. We need to prepare for all possibilities."

Roy snorts, shaking his head. Typical. Typical of an egotistical asshole to make up some reason for why what he's doing is _right._ At least Ollie doesn't bother with any of that bullshit. He doesn't try to pretend it's anything other than what it is.

 _Further training._ Jesus fuck.

"But training isn't the only time it happens," Roy says, just to keep Robin talking.

Robin lifts the bottle to his mouth again, this sip far larger than the last one. This time, he doesn't flinch at all.

"Sometimes I wonder if he really does have a split personality," Robin says, staring up at the ceiling.

"Why?"

"Because it only ever happens when he's Batman," the boy tells him. "As a civilian he never—he _never_ touches me inappropriately. Even when there are countless opportunities, he doesn't do anything. Never even _hints_ at it. I spent so long waiting for him to act." He huffs a bitter laugh. "It's embarrassing how long it took me to recognize the pattern, actually."

Roy doesn't think Batman has a split personality, he thinks the guy is using the cowl as an excuse. Doesn't have to face the fact that he's fucking the boy in his care if he's _Batman_ when he does it. When it's with his _partner,_ when it could be _training._

In civilian life, excuses like that are far harder to come up with.

"How often does he make you do shit like tonight?"

Robin grimaces. "It's...not often. He likes to be—hands on. But with all the time I started to spend here—well. He had to get creative."

That's so fucked up on so many levels. At least Roy only has to deal with Oliver when the guy's drunk and conscious enough to get it up. What Robin is describing—shit is Roy glad he doesn't have to put up with any of that garbage.

And he's _really_ glad he doesn't have to find out if he _would_ put up with it, or fight.

Robin is staring at him again, eyes wide, lips parted. Roy tries to figure out what put that look on his face, and then realizes— _shit._ He said the part about Ollie out loud.

Okay, time to stop drinking.

"Don't make a thing of it," Roy grumbles. "And you're _not gonna tell anyone,_ right?"

Roy is annoyingly relieved when Robin nods without hesitation. The boy says, "You said you wouldn't tell anyone."

"Glad we're in agreement, then. Welcome to the club, I guess."

Robin blinks owlishly. "The club?"

Roy sends him a sharp smile. "Oh yeah. The _I-Get-Fucked-By-My-Mentor_ club. We don't have t-shirts yet, considering I've been the only member and couldn't be bothered, but we sure do have a delicious spread of bitterness, resentment, and trauma!"

Robin looks at him like he's crazy for a minute, then leans back, shaking his head. He salutes Roy with the bottle of tequila. "I'll fight you for being president."

Roy snorts at that, and the snort turns into a chuckle, and then he's laughing his goddamn ass off. Robin isn't laughing with him, but he is smiling, and his eyes don't look as dull as they did when he first walked in the room, which is a response Roy will take with pride.

"We're gonna need a catchier name," Robin muses, which only makes Roy's laughter start up again. Yeah, he probably should go to bed.

"We'll pick one when the next member joins," Roy suggests, and though that's not funny at all, though that has the implication of another kid getting taken advantage of, in this moment it feels absolutely _hysterical,_ and the pair of them start laughing until their stomachs hurt, Robin's hysterical giggles making it out from behind the hand he presses against his mouth.

"Sure, sure," Robin agrees, the tension that had been clinging to him finally fading completely. "To the club, then."

Roy salutes him with an imaginary glass, not trying to take the bottle back from where it's clutched in Robin's hand; kid probably deserves it. "To the club."

* * *

Dick bounces on the balls of his feet, waiting somewhat patiently for his opponent to get back to his feet. Roy shoots him a look, unamused by his enthusiasm, but does get back into position with a grunt, raising his fists and then nodding sharply to let Dick know he's ready to go again.

They've been at this for a little while now. Sparring with Roy usually lasts a while, almost always, really, at least when they're alone. They don't stop until they're both aching all over, sweaty and panting and exhausted, and then things inevitably lead to sex.

Sometimes it's in the shower afterwards, Roy layered against his back, pressing his face into the wall as he fucks him. Sometimes it's right in the training room, Dick pinned on his stomach with his ass in the air, Roy's weight bearing down on him. Sometimes they manage to make it back to one of their rooms, though that's very rare.

Dick likes the thing he and Roy have going on. It's...mutually beneficial. They fit well together; Dick's fucked-up-ness matching Roy's fucked-up-ness.

Roy's shit with Oliver has left him lacking in a sense of control, something he likes being able to take. Not that Roy appreciates Dick psychoanalyzing him.

And Dick's shit with Bruce...

It only ever happens as Batman and Robin. It's always perfectly controlled. Always _distant,_ in a way. Batman training his sidekick, or initiating something with his partner, never something like _making love,_ never something soft or caring. It happens in the Batcave, or the Batmobile, or a random rooftop or alleyway somewhere. And Batman never loses his cool.

So when Dick has a choice, with _Roy,_ Dick just wants passion. He wants there to be _emotion,_ he wants there to be something visceral. He wants to _feel_ something, he doesn't care what. Pain, pleasure, humiliation, pride, slutty, embarrassed—all of it is good, as long as it's _happening._ As long as Roy is making him feel something while they're together.

Is that healthy? Probably not. Does Dick care? Not at all.

Dick takes Roy down again, but this time Roy hooks a leg around Dick's and pulls him crashing down with him. Dick is in motion immediately, twisting out of the hold, but Roy strikes out before he can get very far, trapping him and then rolling them, his grip bruising.

When they settle, Dick is on his stomach on the mats, one arm twisted up in the small of his back. Roy is sitting on his thighs, leaning down enough that Dick can feel the hang of Roy's shirt against his arm.

Dick knows five different ways to get out of a hold like this.

He doesn't try any of them.

It takes them both a minute to stop panting so hard, Dick working through the breathing exercises Bruce taught him. And he waits. Waits for Roy to decide what he wants to do next.

Batman has been on top of him countless times. He always takes his time, not touching Dick until he's decided it's time to. And then when he _does_ finally touch Dick, his hands are methodical and purposeful, and always in gloves. There's rarely ever any skin to skin contact; only the bare minimum needed to complete the act.

But Roy, in only shorts and a t-shirt, is warm and _real_ on top of Dick. Dick can feel his heated, sweaty skin, can feel the press of a bare hand holding his arm in place, just as forceful as Bruce but so much more _connected_ than Batman ever is.

When Roy still continues to do nothing, Dick jerks against the hold. Roy wrenches his arm up further in response, and it _hurts,_ his shoulder protesting the positioning, but it's such a good kind of hurt. Bruce never would've allowed that. He would've moved with Dick's attempt at pulling away, would've regained control. Never would've made Dick _hurt._ He had far too much experience for that.

But Roy yanks him back into place, and Dick cries out as his shoulder sparks with hot pain. His arm is starting to tingle, and the rest of his body with it.

Roy chuckles under his breath, his nose brushing across Dick's hair. He shifts forward, pressing his crotch against Dick's ass, and Dick's breath catches at the hardness he feels. He resists the urge to jerk against the hold again, to force Roy to do more damage. As nice as that would be in the moment, he can't put himself out of commission like that. Robin could be needed at any moment, and a busted shoulder will make him useless.

"Poor Birdie," Roy murmurs against the shell of his ear. Dick can feel his sharp grin, can picture it in his head, and it makes him shiver. "Am I not moving fast enough for you? Are you so desperate to spread your legs that you can't even wait 'til I'm damn good and ready?"

The words send a flash of heat through Dick, and he draws in a slow breath. Makes sure his voice is smooth and as unaffected as he can manage when he says, "Well you take your time, old man, and once you manage to get it up— _ah!"_

Dick screws his eyes shut, breathing through the pain. He's really going to need to ice his shoulder later. It's definitely not dislocated, doesn't feel subluxed either; just a strain, one that hurts like a bitch in the moment, and does its job. Shutting Dick up, putting Roy in command. Making Dick's mind explode with the pain, with the _feeling_ of it all.

When the pain has ebbed enough that he no longer feels like screaming, his awareness comes back to find that Roy is rocking against him, grinding his cock into the cleft of Dick's ass. The leggings Dick is wearing cling to him, the fabric straining as Roy's movements become more forceful. It makes Dick's cock rub against the mat below him, providing some delicious friction that draws a soft moan out of him.

Roy chuckles again. His free hand tangles in Dick's hair, tight enough to hurt, pressing Dick's face against the floor. His other hand presses on Dick's trapped arm at the same time, and the combination makes Dick groan, shuddering.

His blood is pounding, hard enough that he can feel it in his ears. He feels _alive,_ the pain grounding and real and _arousing,_ and he presses his ass up against Roy to encourage more of whatever Roy is willing to give.

"You'd take anything I had to give ya, wouldn't you?" Roy says, practically reading his mind. "You'd let me do whatever the fuck I wanted to you, let _anyone_ do whatever the hell they wanted, you little goddamn _slut."_

Humiliation floods Dick's chest, and it makes him moan, which only makes everything worse.

"Shit, Dick, I never get tired of this," Roy tells him. "I nearly dislocate your shoulder and call you a slut, and you moan and writhe under me like a whore. One of these days I'm gonna tie you up and sell tickets for anyone who wants to fuck your sweet ass."

 _Bruce would kill you if you did that,_ is the first thought that crosses Dick's mind, but then the fantasy hits him, and his breath catches.

"Yeah," Dick breathes, "yeah, that— _fuck!"_

He shouts as Roy yanks his head up by his hair, arching his neck and probably pulling some of the hair out, scalp burning. Breathing becomes more strained in this position, and then the sudden way Roy releases his head makes Dick feel dizzy.

His arm is released just as suddenly, and it flops uselessly to the ground, throbbing with pain that leaves Dick gasping. He feels Roy yank at his leggings, and when two callused hands cup his ass, he lets out a low moan, pushing up into the touch.

Roy smacks his ass, making Dick yelp, more from surprise than pain. Roy lets out a pleased noise, rubbing his hand over the spot he just slapped before doing it again and again. He varies the strength and the placement and the timing, leaving Dick bracing for each blow against his will. The longer it goes on, the stronger the burn gets, until each slap is like fire, drawing whimpers out of Dick.

He presses back into the hits anyway.

Roy eventually stops, Dick wondering faintly if his hand's gotten tired. Dick hears Roy spit, and then one of his hand clamps on Dick's hip and jerks him up, lifting his ass into the air. Then in the next moment a spit-slick finger is being pushed into his ass, then another far too soon, and a third quickly enough that it makes Dick groan.

Roy pumps them in and out of his ass, forceful and definitely on the painful side. Dick writhes beneath him, thrusting back against the fingers.

Sinful words drip from Roy's lips, the older teen calling Dick a _whore_ and a _slut._ Calling him _desperate_ and _needy_ and _pathetic._ And Dick soaks it all in, far more aroused by the treatment and the language than he should be.

But it's so much more than Bruce ever gives him. It's passionate and overwhelming and visceral, as sex with Roy always is. Giving Dick exactly what he needs, when he has a choice about things like this.

"Please," Dick whines, painfully hard and rocking down against the mat for some friction against his cock. "Please, Roy, _please—"_

"Look at you," Roy snorts, voice thick with derision. It makes Dick's blood pump faster. "Rutting against the floor like a _dog._ Alright, Pretty Bird. I'll give you what you want so badly."

His fingers withdraw, and he spits against. The next thing to press against Dick's ass is larger and harder and Dick moans, spreading his legs to make it all easier, arching his back further to show off his ass.

Roy takes him roughly. He fucks hard and fast, one hand on his hip, the other clamped onto the back of Dick's neck, grip bruising as he keeps Dick pinned in place, as he takes what he wants from Dick's body.

Dick can feel himself getting close. He pants wetly, fingers digging into the mat beneath him. He rolls his hips back to meet each of Roy's thrusts, delighting in the groan that erupts from Roy's throat.

"You want my cum that badly, Birdie?" Roy grunts, slamming into him again and again. "You want to _come?_ Go on, show me why you deserve it. Be a good little whore and work for it."

So Dick does. He puts on a show, something he's always been good at. He arches his back, clenches around Roy, lets out a long, sinful moan. He whines and whimpers and writhes, begging incoherently, fucking himself back on Roy's cock.

 _"Fuck,"_ Roy hisses. _"Shit._ You—yeah, alright, go ahead, Pretty Bird. Come for me. Fucking _do it."_

The growl, an almost perfect adaptation of Batman, sends Dick over the edge.

He moans, shuddering, collapsing against the mats. Roy doesn't stop, and Dick doesn't ask him to, not even when it starts to become painful, overstimulation beginning to set it.

It's amazing. It never gets this far with Bruce. They come and Batman pulls out, never fucking past a point that Dick would be driven to pained whines, never make him shake under the force of it while he waits for his partner to be done.

No, not ever. But Roy pushes him to the brink, not stopping when tears begin to slide down Dick's cheeks, not stopping until he's _damn good and ready,_ coming deep inside of Dick.

When Roy pulls out, Dick can feel his cum begin to trail down Dick's thighs, the obscene feeling pulling a soft moan out of him. Roy nudges him, rolling him onto his back, and pulls his leggings back up into place.

Dick looks up at him dazedly, feeling almost proud of the way Roy's face is flushed, the way his pupils are blown with lingering arousal. He's panting heavily, and his hair sticks in place with sweat when he rakes a hand back through the red strands.

Dick sends him a lazy smile, which Roy returns with a pleased smirk.

"Come on," Roy says, and offers Dick a hand, "let's get cleaned up."

Dick accepts the hand and lets the older boy pull him to his feet with a grunt. When he's standing he takes stock of his body, cataloguing the new aches and pains that now cling to him.

It's a good kind of pain. A _really_ good kind. Makes him feel alive.

He and Roy started doing this about a year ago, just before Dick's fifteenth birthday. They'd spent a while in quiet understanding, both of them knowing something about each other that no one else did, and that no one ever would. It's a strange thing to bond over, the fact that they're both being, well, _fucked_ by the men who took them in, but bond they did nonetheless.

It wasn't until Roy arrived from Star City drunk off his ass, muttering stuff about the latest thing Oliver had done, that they ended up sleeping together. Roy had been vulnerable and near explosive, and Dick didn't push him away when he crashed their mouths together, when he started ripping at Dick's clothes.

Roy needed the control. He needed to take it, the way Oliver's taken it from him for years. And it didn't take long for Dick's eyes to be opened for what this could give him in return.

The rest, as they say, is history.

They head to the showers and strip, shame long behind them. Cleaning off is a more sedate affair—both of them tired and looking forward to the soothing hot water—but Dick doesn't say no when Roy drops to his knees and takes Dick's ass in his hands, spreading his cheeks so he can eat his own cum out of Dick's ass.

When Dick is finally on the way back to his room, he's ready to collapse into bed and sleep for as long as he can, content in the knowledge that he doesn't have to be back in Gotham for another whole day.

Or he _would_ collapse into bed for some much needed sleep, if not for the sniffling he hears as he passes the kitchen.

It makes him pause. Other than him and Roy, the only other person in the Tower today has been Donna, and Dick's pretty damn sure she was spending the night marathoning some ridiculous show in her room and eating junk food. Not...crying in the kitchen.

Ignoring his exhaustion, Dick enters the kitchen, squinting against the low lighting. He can vaguely make out the form of someone sitting on the floor, but it's too dark to make out any specifics.

Slightly exasperated, Dick flicks on the light, squinting at the sudden influx before his eyes adjust.

And then he sees Wally.

The redhead is sitting in the corner of the kitchen, crammed into the small space between the trashcan and the counter. He's got his arms wrapped around his knees, head tucked down against them. He's shaking— _vibrating,_ really—slightly, breathing uneven with clear tears. Close to hyperventilation, which isn't great. Seems like a panic attack.

"Wally," Dick says softly, inching further into the room. Wally doesn't react at all, as if he can't hear Dick, so Dick sits down cross-legged on the floor across from him, keeping far enough away to not crowd Wally, but close enough to be reached if Wally wants it.

"Wally," Dick says more loudly, _firmly,_ and Wally's head snaps up. His face is bright red, streaked with tears, eyes bloodshot. He looks like he's been here for a while, and guilt pangs in Dick's chest; while he and Roy were having fun, Wally was sitting here in the dark, all alone while he dealt with whatever's going on.

"Dick," Wally says, eyes wide, chest rising and falling rapidly under the force of his breaths. "What are you—where—you should—"

"Easy," Dick soothes, holding up his hands. "It's alright, you're safe. Just breathe with me, okay? C'mon, Wally, match my breathing. In, out. There you go, just like that. You can do it, just breathe with me."

It takes ten minutes for Wally to calm completely, and then he simply looks exhausted, the panic attack taking a lot out of him.

 _How long has he been here,_ Dick wonders. _How long has this been going on?_

"You okay?" Dick prompts softly, when Wally is breathing deeply, head tipping back against the wall.

Wally's throat bobs as he swallows. "I'm...fine. Sorry for worrying you, man."

Dick shakes his head. "No need to apologize, I always worry about you guys." He smiles, but Wally doesn't return it, his eyes closing. "Want to talk about what happened?"

Wally is shaking his head before Dick's even finished speaking. "No, not really. There's nothing you can do. There's nothing _I_ can do. There's nothing—there's—"

His breathing is starting to pick up again, eyes squeezing shut, so Dick scoots over to him, moving the trashcan so that he can sit next to the other boy, immediately wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Wally jerks, eyes flying open again, looking at Dick almost desperately.

"Breathe," Dick says, tightening his hold around his friend. "Everything's okay, I'm here. What's goin' on, Walls?"

Wally shakes his head. "I can't tell you," he whispers hoarsely. "I can't—I'm not supposed to—"

"You can tell me anything," Dick says immediately, concern rising. Whatever's got Way so spooked has to be really awful. Wally can be nervous sometimes, but _never_ to this degree. Something really bad happened. And Dick can't help him unless he tells him what's wrong.

Wally is shaking again, but it's a far more normal thing than the vibration of before. "You can't tell anyone," Wally says desperately. "If I—if I tell you, Rob, then you have to _swear_ to me you won't tell anyone, okay? _Promise_ me."

"Okay, Walls. I promise."

Dick knows there's a possibility he's going to break that promise, if whatever this secret is has larger impacts that Dick as Robin would be required to act upon, but he makes the promise anyway. His friend needs his help, even if he's hesitant to open up.

Wally squeezes his eyes shut again. He drops his head to Dick's shoulder, hiding his face in the curve of Dick's neck.

"Barry is..." Wally starts, and then trails off. His breath puffs hotly against Dick's skin, and Dick waits patiently, giving Wally all the time he needs to work through whatever this is.

"Barry," Wally says again. "He, uh. He's been...Well, for a while now, Barry's been—and I don't—I don't want it but he's—I can't stop it, he's so—he doesn't _hurt_ me he just—he—"

Dick swallows, gut clenching. Sad understanding settles on Dick's shoulders, bringing with it an intense bitterness.

How many of the Justice League heroes? How many of them took young heroes under the wings only to take advantage of them? To use their need to be good and to belong in order to take what they want from _kids._ It's sickening. It's disgusting.

Dick's gotten so used to what Bruce has been doing to him, it's always just been a fact. But Wally, too? _Barry?_ Is this just the way the world works? Are they all just toys for their mentors to use and discard when it's convenient for them?

Dick pushes the thoughts aside for later. His friend needs him right now.

"I understand," Dick says quietly, tightening his arm around Wally's shoulders.

"No, you—you don't understand, he—you—"

 _"Wally,"_ Dick says, a bit more firmly. "I _understand."_

Wally goes still. For a few moments, he doesn't even breathe. Then he draws back, meeting Dick's eyes, lips parted in surprise.

"You..." Wally trails off. "Oh my god, you do. Batman? He...?"

Dick nods, and then shifts, pushing to his feet. He pulls Wally up after him, keeping an arm wrapped around his shoulders, and begins to lead him out of the kitchen and down the hall, heading for Roy's room.

"Where're we going?" Wally asks blearily, reaching up a hand to rub his eyes. Definitely exhausted, after everything. Maybe even a bit in shock.

Dick doesn't reply, instead pulling them to a stop in front of Roy's door. Wally frowns, looking confused and a little concerned by their destination, shifting uncomfortably when Dick knocks.

Roy squints at them when he opens the door, leaning against the doorjamb.

"Hey," he drawls. "Can I help you two?"

"Wally is the newest member of our club," Dick tells him.

Roy's eyes flare wide, glancing over at Wally and taking in his distressed state before stepping to the side to allow them in.

"Club?" Wally asks, a tad anxiously. "What club?"

Dick pats his shoulder and guides him inside, depositing him on Roy's desk chair.

Roy leans against the door, folding his arms loosely across his chest. He raises an eyebrow at Dick, clearly telling him to take the lead, so with a grimace Dick sits on the end of his bed and faces Wally.

"We have a club," Dick says with a dry smile. "It's the _We-Get-Fucked-By-Our-Mentors_ club. You're not in it 'till you're in it. Welcome aboard. I suppose we'll be getting shirts soon."

Wally swallows roughly. "Are you—are you _serious?_ You... _both_ of you?" His eyes move to Roy, and the older boy nods tiredly. He's in his pajamas, might've even been asleep. Dick doesn't feel guilty about waking him; not for this.

"Yep," Roy says. "I started the club, and then invited Short Pants aboard once the truth came out. Seems you're number three. Makes me wonder about everyone else."

Dick nods, sharing that thought, and Wally looks a little ill.

"How long has it been going on?" Dick asks gently.

"A...a few years," Wally says faintly. "But it's—he doesn't hurt me," he adds quickly, looking at them like it's important they know that. "He'd never...he's also so nice. I don't know what I'm complaining about, really. Barry's so _nice._ He always says—it's not bad. So maybe I'm just blowing things out of proportion, or—"

"Has Barry touched you sexually?" Roy asks bluntly.

Wally gapes at him, but does eventually nod. Roy nods back.

"Then you're not blowing things out of proportion."

"I just wanted you to see that you're not alone," Dick says. "It's not a fun club, but we're here, okay? You're not alone."

Wally nods shakily. "Okay."

* * *

Wally holds very still, watching with wide eyes.

He hasn't been given permission to move yet, but fuck does he want to. The sight in front of him is just so tempting—not being involved in it yet is _torture._

Across the room, Dick moans, eyes rolling back in his head as Roy holds the tip of the electrified escrima stick in his hand against the soft skin of the inside of Dick's thigh, dangerously close to his cock. He holds it there long enough that it must be really hurting, but while Dick shakes and cries, he doesn't tell Roy to stop.

Wally will _never_ get used to this, to seeing the way Dick and Roy work in the bedroom. They've been including him for going on five months now, after his revelation, and still Wally has to fight to not blush like a school boy every time, to not cum the instant one of them moans.

It's a challenge, that's for sure. Because Wally's never...really done this before.

The stuff with Barry—it's just _stuff with Barry._ It might've been happening for a while but it happens _rarely,_ and it's just—well, it's—it's not really—

Alright, so what, he's still slightly in denial, _sue_ him. The _point_ is that other than the _stuff with Barry,_ Wally's never done anything like this. He hasn't experimented with other teenagers, hasn't researched to find out how things really work, find out what he might like. He's just lived in his little bubble.

Roy and Dick sure popped that bubble.

"Desperate," Roy says with a sneer in his voice, thumping Dick on the ass with the escrima stick and drawing a yelp out of Dick, then a soft whine and the slightest lift of his hips, obviously requesting more.

 _Jesus,_ Wally doesn't say. _Holy shit._

He never would've imagined this in his wildest dreams. Because Robin is _Robin,_ their fearless leader, confident and in control and always with a plan. If Wally had to pick what he thought Dick would like in the bedroom, it wouldn't be being treated like _this._

But they all have their stories, don't they. They all have their reasons for wanting what they want.

Oliver fucks Roy when he's drunk no matter what Roy says, and so now Roy likes to be in charge of the people he fucks. Dick is treated like an experiment whenever Batman does things to him, so he wants to be touched and talked to and forced to feel everything. And Wally...

Wally likes to be told what to do. He likes to be helpful. He likes to be told that he's doing well, being useful.

Because Barry...Barry is always so gentle with him. Always telling him everything's okay, to just stay still, _I'll make you feel good, Kid, just don't move, just stay right there for me, just like that—_

So Wally wants to _do something._

So the fact that Roy's sidelining him right now? Not fun.

But he trusts Roy. They all have their issues, and sometimes Roy can be a little uncaring, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care. He takes care of them to the best of his ability. He doesn't abuse them. He _definitely_ isn't taking advantage of them. Roy isn't going to make him sit still forever. For now, he's supposed to watch. Soon he'll get to be useful.

"Please," Dick groans. "Roy, c'mon, ple—"

Dick cuts off with a scream as Roy ups the voltage, the tip of the escrima stick pressed against his taint. His hands twist in their bindings, tugging against the rope tying his wrists in the small of his back. His legs jerk and twist, but there's no escaping, and he's sobbing by the time Roy pulls the weapon away.

He's also extremely hard, his cock trapped between his body and the desk he's bent over. The position looks exceedingly uncomfortable, maybe even painful, and Wally is certainly not envious of it. Dick might get off on being overwhelmed with pain, but Wally would like all of that to stay far away from him, thank you very much.

Roy smirks down at the trembling, crying man, trailing his fingers up Dick's spine. Dick whines, his breaths going in and out rapidly.

 _"Please,"_ he says hoarsely, and Roy chuckles.

"You little whore," he says, tone amused. "Still begging to be fucked? After all the shit I've done to you? You know how close I came to _castrating_ you, Birdie? Would you even care? It's not like you're anything more than a hole to fuck, after all. You don't really need any of those bits to do your job, do you?"

The idea of that makes Wally's gut churn, but the nauseated feeling is quickly pushed aside by arousal at Dick's reaction. The other boy keens, shaking, starting to grind his hips forward against the desk to rub his cock.

"Can you believe this?" Roy says, and it takes Wally a moment to realize _he's_ the one being addressed.

"Unreal," Wally replies in awe. It's not with the level of mocking Roy is using, the mocking that is getting Dick off, but the word at least fit Roy's needs, and it drags a whimper out of Dick.

"C'm'ere, Walls," Roy says, and Wally is across the room instantly, offering a chagrined smile when Roy snorts at his eagerness.

Roy pulls him in, capturing Wally in a searing kiss, hand drifting down to grope at Wally's crotch and make him moan.

"You want to fuck him?" Roy asks breathlessly when they part, and Wally's mouth goes dry, his brain short-circuiting for a moment before he nods, moving moving fast enough that he knows some of his powers aid the motion.

"Good," Roy says approvingly, and the small bit of praise goes straight to Wally's cock. "Strip, first. Then go to town."

Strip, because Dick appreciates almost nothing as much as he does skin on skin contact. Despite the role Roy plays in these dalliances, he still cares. Probably more than all of them combined.

Wally removes his clothes lightning fast, and then steps up behind Dick. He takes a few moments to admire, to stare at the perfect swell of his ass, the arch of his back, all the marks left behind by their play so far, all the scars that litter his skin because of the work he does as Robin. Fucking gorgeous.

But right now Wally can't tell him that, unless _'gorgeous'_ is followed by _'slut'._

He takes the bottle of lube sitting beside Dick's hips and squeezes some out, slicking up his cock. He starts pressing in slowly, wanting to give Dick time to adjust since it's been a little while since Roy fingered him earlier that night, but he's tight and hot around Wally, and lets out a sound deep in his chest, so Wally can't resist from fucking forward until he's all the way inside.

Much to his gigantic embarrassment, he comes right then.

Dick clenches down around him as he does it, milking him for all he's worth, and Wally avoids looking up at Roy, cheeks bright red with embarrassment.

"You feel good, Wally," Dick tells him, voice slightly slurred, and Wally's cheeks feel hot for a different reason now. "You're good, so good..."

Wally's cock twitches and begins to harden again; speedster refractory period, helped along by the sexy hero Wally's currently balls deep inside.

Soon enough he's completely hard again, and begins to thrust in and out, his own cum working as extra lube. The noise of it makes his ears redden, but Dick lets out a low, pleased noise, and that just about gets rid of all of Wally's awkwardness, making him fuck in earnest.

He hears Dick choke, and his head jerks up to see Roy standing at the opposite end of the table, feeding his cock into Dick's mouth. Dick tilts his head up to make it easier to do.

"Yeah, that's it," Roy murmurs. "Gonna take what we have to give you, huh? Can't do jackshit about it, Pretty Bird. Just gotta lie there and be our little fucktoy. _Heh._ Robin, the Boy Wonder, just a hole to fuck."

Dick moans and clenches down around Wally, making him curse.

Roy sends him a sharp grin. "Look at the way he's moving with ya, Walls. Must be fuckin' him good."

Wally is the one to whimper this time, and he picks up the pace as if to prove Roy right, that he can do this well, bring his partners some pleasure. He doesn't even realize how fast he's going until Dick shudders, whining on each breath around Roy's cock as the older boy continues to thrust in and out of his mouth.

Wally takes a few deep breaths, trying to rein in his speed, but Roy shakes his head and says, "Let loose, Wally. He'll like it, you know that. Do it, Walls."

An order, a direction to take; Wally is ridiculously happy to have it, something to follow. So he does as he's told, letting the pace of his hips pick up, faster and faster until he's reached inhuman speeds.

Dick lets out a long, high sound, writhing between them. Wally's ears are buzzing, loud enough that he can't even hear what Roy is saying to Dick, all the familiar semi-insults that only ever come out during times like this. No, all Wally can do is feel Dick around his cock, tight and hot and wet and amazing, laid out before Wally, all his for the taking—

Wally comes for the second time with a choked gasp, curving over Dick as he comes inside of him. His vision goes white, his ears turned static, and he presses his forehead to Dick's overheated skin between his shoulder blades, relaxing against him, still buried inside.

He strokes Dick's side lightly, enjoying the way the other boy feels twitching underneath him as Roy continues to fuck his throat, both of them grunting and groaning.

"Wally, jerk him off."

Wally nods disjointedly in agreement, reaching a hand down and around to Dick's front to wrap a hand around his erection. He makes his hand vibrate, moving it up and down Dick's cock, enjoying the noises Dick makes in response, the way he shakes underneath him.

When he comes, he collapses much like Wally did, going completely limp against the desk.

Roy takes his time, drawing it out as long as he can and getting no complaints from the boy he's fucking. Wally drifts, and faintly notices Roy eventually pull out, coming all over Dick's face.

The room is silent for a few moments. Then firm but gentle hands pull him up off Dick, moving him instead to sit on the bed. Wally keeps himself upright by sheer force of will, watching Roy untie Dick's hands, move him up just as gently as the way he handled Wally.

"You good?" Roy asks softly as Dick sways, blinking hazy blue eyes up at the older boy.

Dick nods slowly. "Good," he says, voice rough. "But I could—" he shifts, winces, huffs a laugh, "—could do with a shower, probably. And about fifteen hours of sleep."

Wally and Roy both chuckle in response, and Wally pushes himself to his feet, joining them back at the desk and putting a hand in the small of Dick's back.

"Come on," Wally says with a lopsided grin, "I think we _all_ could do with that."

"Last one there gets the busted showerhead," Roy says with a smirk and he begins to head for the dark.

Wally barks a laugh. "I'm a _speedster,_ Roy; you really think you can beat me?"

Roy glances over his shoulder, eyes dragging up and Wally's body, then Dick's. His eyebrow raises. "Good luck getting your jelly legs to get you there. And hey, Dick's the only one I really have to beat."

But Dick gives him a _look,_ and Roy gives in with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, walking back over and slinging an arm around Dick's waist and helping him to his feet, supporting him as they slowly begin to walk towards the door.

Wally zooms forward to join them, stepping up to Dick's other side and throwing his arm around his shoulders. Dick offers him a tired but warm smile, relaxing into him and Roy, looking genuinely at peace.

When he returned from Gotham a few hours ago, his eyes had been haunted, his body stiff, Wally and Roy understanding exactly what had made him that way. They had their days like that too, after all.

And now watching the transformation, what Dick's like after some time with the two of them—it makes Wally feel more needed and useful than he does anywhere else. And he knows it'll be enough to keep him going for a while longer. Maybe even through his next hang-out with Barry.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy DG Exchange!


End file.
